


Interview

by appending_fic



Series: Self Determination - Sidestories [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:29:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: It's been a while since Toby, whose masters prefer to call him Anomaly 42, has met another human.





	Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IncognitoPhenomenon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncognitoPhenomenon/gifts).



> Takes place just before 'All the Stars in the Sky', but also mentions facts that may not be apparent until Ch 7 of that.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Toby, already three drinks (Salvassa, a liquor which, through a combination of factors Toby didn't even begin to understand, was 105 percent alcohol) into his evening, growled. He'd practiced that growl for years, got it to a resonance that could reduce most creatures to a shivering wreck. Then, and only then, did he look at the person interrupting him.

But when he _saw_ the interloper, Toby nearly choked on his drink. Because there was an infinite variety of creatures in the universe, but it had been _years_ since Toby had met another human (of course, they might not _be_ human; Toby had met an entity who took the form of whoever looked on them). Of course, shapeshifters tended to take more alluring forms than this person, a wizened man, pale, with a neat white beard and sharp blue eyes. The person was smiling, a genial expression.

Or at least, genial on the surface.

Toby knew the eyes of a killer; he saw them every time he looked in the mirror.

"I can afford to buy my own drinks," Toby replied.

"But I've found that, like most things in life, drinks are much better when someone else pays," the man said with a smirk. "And the drinks aren't really the point; the company is."

"The general consensus is I'm not very good company." Toby waved at the bar, which had emptied at a steady pace since his arrival.

"Then we're in good company," the other man said. "Come along - two glasses of mead." The order was filled quickly; Toby didn't tend to have to wait to be served. Toby took the glass when it appeared and sipped at it cautiously. It was somewhat thick, and tasted almost like flowers.

"I think a toast is in order," the other man said, and lifted his glass toward Toby. Toby returned the gesture, unwilling to antagonize the man until he had some idea of who he was. The man winked at Toby. "To the end of the world."

Toby clinked his glass against the other man's, and carefully sipped at his own drink. The man drank deep, thirstily, until his glass was empty, and he slammed it down on the counter. He waved at the bartender, and was quickly provided another glass. Toby, though, watched him carefully. Toby's masters were cheerful about their conquest, of the power and resources such conquest brought them, but couldn't imagine even _them_ drinking to the end of the world.

"The end of the world's...an odd thing to toast," Toby said, at last. "Most people aren't eager for it."

The other man shrugged, taking a long draught of his mead, before turning to Toby, mouth quirking up to show a glimpse of his teeth. "It's futile, I think, to dread the inevitable. And the end of the world _is_ that - inevitable. It's been here since the beginning, and is the only constant in any of our lives. And that, I think, makes it almost like a friend."

He finished his mead in one drink, and then smirked at Toby again. "Or that's the sort of thing I'd say if I were less of a bastard. No, the end of the world's when I'll finally have everything I want, so I'll drink to it every day."

And Toby relaxed, a little. Thoughtful people, those who reflected on the deep truths of the universe, made him nervous. They asked hard questions, ones with no answers. The evil ones made him question his ultimate goals, and the good ones...made him question what it would cost to achieve them. Selfish monsters were easier to deal with; you knew where you stood with them, at least.

"Well, then, to the nebulous plans we have for the future," Toby said, raising his glass. The bartender passed by, clinked a new glass against Toby's, and handed it to the other man. He let the man drink again (smaller sips, either in some sense of moderation, or because he was finally quenching his thirst) before speaking. "Who are you, by the way?"

"It sounds cliche to say so, but I have many names," the other man said. "You might have heard of some of them. The Sleeping God, Myrddin Wyllt, Cthulhu..." He paused, thoughtful. "I'm rather afraid I left some people with a very poor opinion of the Welsh, in that guise."

"So you _are_ human. I'd wondered."

Myrddin Wyllt laughed, a low, grating sound. "Not in the slightest. There was an age where the human form was common among the stars, even if you couldn't call the people 'human'. Whatever you'd call my mother, however, my father was a demon, so I am quite as far away from being 'human' as you can get."

Toby nodded, even if he'd gotten used to thinking people used the word 'demon' to refer to the most powerful of wizards (those who could destroy suns _without_ years of torture and experimentation to force the power upon them), to make them seem more...alien, for lack of a better word. But demon or not, this man was distressingly...normal.

"And what do you want with me?"

"Hm. What makes you think I want anything with you?"

"You're a smart man," Toby replied, and waved at the empty bar. "You have to know I'm dangerous. You wouldn't _stay_ here if you didn't want anything."

"True," Myrddin Wyllt agreed. He set his glass down, and the bar vanished. The rest of the room followed, and they were standing on - well, it felt like a force field, or compressed space, but it was indistinguishable from the blackness that filled his vision. "Though I have to say," the man said, "you are not quite what I was hoping for."

"Really? I've had few complaints."

Myrddin Wyllt chuckled. "Oh, I'm certain you are perfect for _their_ purposes. But my plots are grander than universal domination, and for that, my - allies require a little, _je ne sais quoi_. A _quality_. Ruthlessness, for one."

"And you don't think I'm ruthless?" Toby replied, letting the growl rise up in his chest. "Knowing what I've done?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure all the murder and rampant war crimes are impressive," Myrddin Wyllt said, airily, waving a hand as if to dismiss the _hell_ Toby had been through, the hell he'd brought to _other people_ , in pursuit of a goal he wasn't certain was worth...anything he'd paid for it. "But have you really thought about what you want to _get_ out of it? Where you'll be standing when it's all over?"

Toby bit his lip, finding his mind, as it often did when he contemplated that question - about what would happen after - faltering. Because of course he knew what would happen to the Earth, to the _Empire_ , but not how _Toby_ fit into it.

"And if you don't know that, you're not the sort of person I need on my team."

"Wait - what?"

Myrddin Wyllt rolled his eyes. "Did you think this was a social call? That in my infinite power, I decided to drop in on your universe to _share a drink_ with you? There are _much_ more entertaining places to be than your little **pity party**."

"What the **fuck** do you know?" Toby demanded. He flicked his wrist, just enough to pull out a dagger, because plane-shifting or not, the old man couldn't require anything like Toby's _real_ power. "I've done - **horrible** things! **_Unforgivable_**!"

Myrddin Wyllt yawned. "Oh, I'm sure. But I'm certain you couldn't even stand up to-"

And Toby was - 

Done. He didn't want to talk about this, didn't want to debate with this man about whether Toby had suffered enough to warrant _feeling bad_ about it, so he.

Dealt with the problem. He was sure in another life he'd be horrified at the sort of man who'd stab someone rather than politely ask them to leave. But Toby had been given one set of tools, and they didn't allow for a lot of subtlety. If the man had wanted to survive this encounter, he should have left when the rest of the bar's patrons had.

Or kept on being - pleasant, or whatever he'd been at the start.

The blades Toby kept on-hand weren't much - a blaster pistol had more stopping power than both of them together. But they were made of rare metal, and were sharp, and pretty much unbreakable, which was always a plus in a weapon you kept on you in case everything else failed.

But whatever power Myrddin Wyllt might have, whatever defenses he might have claimed to possess, it didn't protect him from a knife to the eye,, driving deep enough that the man's brains still coated the blade when Toby pulled it free.

He considered for a moment before cleaning his knife on the man's shirt, before looking for a way out.

\---

Merlin woke with a blinding headache. Dying in dreams was always painful, but was preferable to dying in _real life_ , which is why he prefered to do his scouting in an astral form.

"No luck?" Pitch asked, in a snide, lilting tone, and Merlin shot him a glare that had little effect. The Nightmare King was growing too bold; if he weren't the only person who could reliably control the Fearlings, Merlin would have killed him centuries ago.

"No. I think...Tobias Domzalski might be too...volatile for our purposes."

"How many of them actually _killed_ you?" Pitch asked, raising one dark eyebrow. "Twelve? Thirteen?"

Merlin didn't answer because Pitch _knew_ the number (thirty-four), and was just trying to taunt him. It didn't help that _whatever_ universe, some fragment of orichalcum found its way to Toby. There were worlds where James Lake Jr. was powerless, a teenage chef with no talents out of the ordinary, ones where Claire Nuñez had never _heard_ of magic.

But Tobias Domzalski was _always_ dangerous.

"There are other demons," Pitch suggested, as if he didn't know there wasn't a demon alive who was trustworthy enough not to backstab Merlin at the first opportunity. As if Merlin wouldn't love to have a team of alternate versions of _himself_ , the perfect mix of cunning, power, and a certain dashing charm no other creature possessed, except for the fact _Merlin_ was possibly the least trustworthy creature in _any_ universe.

"I need someone with particular talent with Shadow Magic, and few demons aside from myself have any interest in magic other than Blood Magic. No…"

Merlin sighed, slumping back on the bed set within his inner sanctum. He really didn't want to do this. He'd known right from the start where his best bet was, where a sorceress ruled over a dead universe. But he was not, it turned out, as good at making friends as he might have hoped.

"I hope she's less _trigger-happy_ than Tobias, at least," Merlin muttered, as he slipped back into dreams. He was getting sick of being stabbed in the eye; it was why he hadn't yet mastered the art of Rune Magic, waiting to find a way to get someone else to pay that price _for him_.

And until then, he would scour every possible universe for a Shadow Mage willing to work for him before he listened to Clyde and put up an ad on _Monster_.

**Author's Note:**

> The Tobias Domzalski here is one of IncognitoPhenomenon's creation, inserted, per their request, in a conversation with SD Merlin. This fic does not have a one-to-one relation to canonicity, but it is...essentially a thing that happened.


End file.
